Hi, my name is
by bouncingcrow
Summary: After watching Avengers for the third time, I couldn't focus on any one character for too long anymore. Thus this was born. A series of one-shots on each character of the Avengers, a character sketch or overview if you will. Disclaimer is here: I don't own these characters or plot lines laid out in the movie.
1. Hi, my name is Clint Barton

**Hi, my name is...** Clint Barton

Aim. Draw. Release. The mantra of a man who never misses and feels most at ease with a bow and arrow in his hands. Calloused hands and focused eyes.

People didn't really know his history. It worked. He was, after all, an Agent of SHIELD. He had to be a spy, assassin, soldier, whatever hat they gave him for the day. And no one asked, usually, so he didn't offer. But he had grown up in a circus – literally, not a metaphor – grown up on high wires above three rings. It's where he had learned how to shoot a bow. If you can throw a knife, you can aim a bow. Easy. Easy as one, two, three rings.

Family drama and a little bit of heartache, just like every lost puppy and kitten in SHIELD's ranks. He figured he could count on one hand the number of agents who had grown up with two parents, a sibling, a dog, and a picket fence or any combination of those things. And that was just fine. It meant he fit in; it meant people didn't ask, and it meant he didn't have to talk or think about it.

He had fulfilled his patriotic duty, though he did not consider himself a patriot. And somewhere between one hit or another, he had joined the ranks here. They paid well, and he was good at taking orders; if nothing else, it was a lot like being back in the circus, what with the seriously crazy schemes of some of the people that SHIELD dealt with. He hadn't been on the ground with that green Hulk situation, but he heard stories.

Aside from his aim, Clint was most well known for bringing the infamous Black Widow in to join their ranks. Like so many Russians that he had had the pleasure of meeting, she was a problem that needed to be eliminated. He'd like to say that there was some noble reason he had spared her life and recruited her instead; the truth was that, like so many other men, she had wooed him, and it became clear that she was not really loyal to Russia, anyway. So he brought her in, introduced to her to Fury, and now she was the main attraction (no pun intended) of the organization.

Their skill sets were different, though, so it wasn't like he felt threatened. Sure he made a good assassin, since a bow and arrow kind of lend themselves to being silent, distance killers. But he was a soldier at heart, not a spy. The only way he knew how to get information was to demand it, forcefully, sometimes lethally. Besides, he hated asking for directions. For all that, they made a good team, when they worked together.

Like most soldiers, he saw his fellow fighters as siblings, almost. He wasn't especially close to most of them, Natasha and Phil (to an extent) being the exceptions, but the sense of family that came with going into battle with someone was comforting to him. Despite the widely held belief that he was inhuman or completely secretive, he felt strongly for his fellow agents, and he was really a friendly guy once you got to know him outside of work. It wasn't necessarily his fault that his line of work kind of never had an end.

Fury had approached him about the Avenger's initiative early in its development, along with Romanoff. He was confused, "What good would I be? I mean, what would I be doing in the company of super humans, demi-gods, a genius in a suit, and the Black Widow?"

"Agent Barton, it's simple. Aim, draw, release."


	2. Hi, my name is Phil Coulson

**Hi, my name is...**Phil Coulson

"The devil is in the details."

Like most CIA agents, Coulson had started out as a "runner", otherwise known as the kid that gets the big guys their coffee. Unlike most CIA agents, he figured it was an order, so he should do his damnedest to make sure it was done _right_. This general preferred one cream and no sugar, and this AIC liked lattes. He had an uncanny ability to remember what people liked, and he saw to it that they got it.

In a strange way, it was the smartest move he could have made. Even in the distinctly cold and removed environment of espionage, his superiors appreciated his attention to detail when it came to these things, and he was rewarded with promotions. And information. No one pays attention to the guy who wheels in the food tray, but he paid attention. He paid attention to everything. Coffee orders weren't the only thing he could recall with absolute acuity.

SHIELD was watching him for a while. When they recruited him, he had accepted with the same small smile that he gave every question. He'd be lying if he said the idea of being the runner all over again was not disheartening, but he found that that was not where he had to start this time.

Agent Coulson started in the field – not as a spy or one of the grunts to throw at the bad guys – he had gone in to smooth out some wrinkles. He was exceptionally good at that. He ironed the situation so well that a few people on the wrong side got cut in the process. And then he had cleaned the mess left by the agents and walked away.

He had found his niche. The super humans and super egos did nothing to ruffle his feathers. They liked coffee just like the rest of the human race, and they still needed someone to wipe out their tracks half the time. Coulson provided this service with a calm air and a dangerously sharp wit that actually disarmed most people. _Smile at the beast_, he thought,_ and you throw it off long enough that it is forced to listen to you._

It was a tactic he had learned growing up. If you smile when you're facing down the big guys, they will wonder what you have up your sleeve because, surely, you wouldn't be smiling unless you knew something the other guys didn't. Being in the CIA had given him the tricks and the secrets, so now his big stick was real, but he still preferred to speak quietly.

Obviously, he was lacking in super powers and a cape, but within SHIELD, he was considered _the_ Agent. While Maria Hill was the Commander, Coulson was the ultimate right-hand man. He had been sent into every situation that SHIELD had dealt with, either in the thick of things, or after the fact. He ran the show with absolute control; no one went against his order, ever, and no one knew exactly why. One thing for sure, though, when he was in charge, things got done. They were done quickly, and they were done right.

Another agent had once asked him how he managed to stay calm when dealing with someone like, say, Tony Stark. Coulson gave him his small smile, an indecisive shrug, and commented simply, "The devil is in the details."


	3. Hi, my name is Nick Fury

**Hi, my name is...** Nick Fury

Being the man with his finger on the button is not always the gig it's cracked up to be.

Most days, Fury missed being in the field. He missed the rush of battle and the absolute clarity of an adrenaline-fueled moment. But someone had to lead those that were still young enough to get thrown around like rag dolls, and he was the one chosen to do it. Moving up the ranks had been a breeze for him, maybe because of his natural charm, but more likely because he was blunt and would accept nothing less than his men's best.

Building SHIELD had felt like his greatest achievement, working with legends like Howard Stark. Unfortunately, like so many good intentions, it had become merely a paving stone to Hell. When they had developed SHIELD, they understood that it could not be under the purview of any one country – that country would be too powerful, and great power often led to great stupidity, the kind that kills – and in answer to that, they had developed a relationship with the UN.

As it turned out, working with the UN still meant a lot of ass-kissing; that was the worst part of his job. He found himself too often pandering to the suits safe in their dimly-lit chambers of power, an infuriating process that cost time and, often, lives. They somehow forgot that Fury had extensive field experience, a sterling military record, and the stubbornness of an ox. Of course, all of the tactical genius in the world held but a flickering match to the bright shimmer or money, which was the native tongue of the bureaucrats.

Fury wasn't against playing dirty, though, which is why he had slipped the words "Avengers initiative" casually into conversation with Tony Stark. It hadn't been approved; it probably would never be approved, but Fury had a gut feeling, and he never ignored those. Oh, sure, he had later scolded the Iron Man, implied that he was no longer considered, but too often people forgot that Fury was the leader of a covert organization for a reason. One did not create super-secret government entities without being able to, oh, keep a secret or play a hand close to the chest.

The Avengers hand he had played like a necklace, bluffing on all fronts. The possibilities were endless, too great to pass up just because some bureaucrats were too short-sighted to see the benefit of the initiative. Part of being a leader meant knowing how to pull a person's strings, play them like a marionette, so that they did what you wanted even if they didn't know that they did. Yes, the Avengers initiative was what was best for the planet, but Fury was a soldier, not a philanthropist. He was not one to ask politely and wait; that wasn't why he had been chosen to lead SHIELD.

Of course, it meant an ass reaming later, probably a few extra sessions of pandering to the screens, but he was willing to take it. Fury was a soldier, not a bureaucrat, and that had served him well for more years than he would care to, or was at liberty to discuss. What was it Stark had said? "He's _the_ spy; his secrets have secrets."

Oh, don't they just.

For instance, no one ever asked exactly what the button _does_.

**A/N: Fury was surprisingly difficult to write. Probably because he's a master spy...**


	4. Hi, my name is Maria Hill

**Hi, my name is...** Maria Hill

"Yes, sir."

The two words that are the best way to stay out of trouble and make your way to the top. Say it enough times, and you'll even become second-in-command to arguably the most powerful man in the world.

It worked for Maria Hill.

She had grown up in Chicago, where loyalty was something you proved by doing what was asked, when it was asked, with no questions. Things had changed since prohibition ended, sure, but the mentality of the days of Al Capone and Bugs Moran had been so engrained in the city that the pavement looked at you sideways if you stepped the wrong way.

Since her father so vehemently opposed her existence, she had spent most of her adolescence preparing to leave the roost just as soon as her feet could carry her. When she graduated high school, she had walked across that stage and never returned. That was a lie – she didn't attend her graduation. But she had left on the first bus to the armed services.

"Yes, sir," was a popular phrase in the Army. It served her well; she excelled in the structured environment. She did what she was told, and she did not ask questions. This is what led her to SHIELD's doorsteps.

The Army had called it a promotion to a highly-classified arm of the government. SHIELD was nothing like that, of course, but her skills were just as useful. Standard military training? Check. Ability to keep her mouth shut about things the general public doesn't need to know? Check. Understanding of command structure? Double Check.

_Good job_, she had thought, _you're getting that much further from dad_.

Maria proved herself again, using the same tools that she had used since being a child. Her missions were completed with the efficiency and sterility that befitted them. She gave her superiors no problems. Sure, she would speak her mind when the time was right, she had even questioned a few dangerous calls, but if she hit a wall, she simply backed down. There was no sense arguing with people who _knew_ they were right, and more than that, she had made peace with the fact that she was doing dangerous, sometimes stupid, things. That was what being in any armed service division meant. And so she just continued to do her job.

She had been rewarded with the assignment to the 9th circle of Hell known by the powers-that-be as "the Madripoor incident". The thought brought lines to her otherwise young face, so she generally didn't think about it. But the powers-that-be thought about it. _A lot_. That was why, after a few years with SHIELD, she had been promoted to Commander.

Maria only had to say "yes, sir" to one person now: Nick Fury. It wasn't so hard. For the most part, they had similar views on how to motivate and inspire others. They had both busted their asses in the armed service before moving to SHIELD, though Fury had been a founding member, while Maria had only been recruited for being, well, awesome at what she did – yes, sir.


	5. Hi, my name is Natasha Romanoff

**Hi, my name is...** Natasha Romanoff

Natasha has what she likes to call a "specific" skill set. Simply put, she was trained to be a spy and an assassin.

The annals of her life's story were complex and shady, some of them chapters blacked out, censored, or doctored to look a little more palatable. She wasn't necessarily proud of her story, but she wasn't ashamed, either. Some people became accountants; she became a killer. It was as simple and as complex as that. She certainly made more money than an accountant, and one glance through a newspaper would show that not all accountants were above reproach anyway.

When Natalia was a little girl, she didn't necessarily imagine herself growing up to be a femme fatale. Like so many things in life, she had sort of fallen into it. One job, then another. One seduction of a slimy mob boss, then the, let's not sugar coat it, murder of his second-in-command. A frame-up here, or a break-in there. The jobs were plentiful, and the money was good. More than good. Then she started to wake from dreams of swimming in a river of blood, and she realized then that her life was not a normal one. So she had gone rogue for a while.

When Barton had recruited her for SHIELD, she had been given a clean slate. Quite literally. All record of her before joining had been eradicated – it was part of the deal.

But to say that SHIELD had saved her was just putting a shine on a worthless penny. Her skill set hadn't changed; her assignments had not suddenly become altruistic hand-holding missions. She was still a spy, still a killer, still a liar. Her new post had merely offered her a greater purpose to lie, steal, and kill. Now it was on the lighter side of that moral gray area of her job description because it was _for the greater good_.

More than that, SHIELD gave her something that no other job had before. Since joining, she had been able to start finding out who she was – work through the layers of seductress and lies – and also be that person. After a while of working with a team, she was as surprised as anyone to learn that she was warm; she was even funny, when she wanted to be, with a dry sense of humor and sarcastic wit. People opened to her even when she wasn't putting on her charm.

Natasha, as she had taken to calling herself, even cared about other people, individuals and otherwise. She had taken hits for other agents; she made peace staring death in the face when she knew that it might be the only way to save a valley of people from their own encounter with the grim reaper. She had friends, not just allies. She had leave to be human, not just a means to an end, though she could still be that, too.

As it turned out, she could even be an accountant, which she had done a few times since joining SHIELD. Accountant, legal aid, nurse, hacker, journalist, detective, waitress, actress, model, escort, gymnast, dancer, corporate trainer, teacher, painter...the list went on.

Perhaps her skill set was not quite _that_ specific.

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and alerts! They have been very appreciated – first thing I check when I get home from work these days. Also, these are not done. I wanted to get all of the SHIELD agents first, then I'll move into the other characters. Thanks again!**


	6. Hi, my name is Bruce Banner

Hi, my name is...Bruce Banner

_It's not easy being green..._Kermit didn't know the half of it.

Of course, Bruce wasn't green – that would be strange, to be sure – but the other guy was. Somewhere, there was a sense of irony in all of it; as it turned out, the term "seeing red" was woefully incorrect. Green for go, and then green for gone.

It was easy for him to bemoan his existence, what had happened to him. He had given in, at least once, to the feelings of despair. But when he realized that "the other guy" was having none of it, he had had to reevaluate his plan. He was, after all, a scientist, so with no other options, he chose to study it. Being that what he was studying was potentially hazardous to those around him, or definitely, he had to find a rather secluded area to do so.

Thus he had visited every remote corner of the world until such a time as he was able to control his rage. And he had a lot of rage, stored up over the years. As a scientist, he had kept it all bottled up; rage does not lend itself to logical or rational thinking. He had always been the quiet guy who had just shrugged when people looked down at him or bullied him. It wasn't that he was a coward; he just couldn't be bothered to stop and defend himself when the world had a host of problems that needed to be solved.

But he was still angry. He would swallow it and bottle it up tightly, so that by the time he was struck with those gamma rays, well, it had reached _super_ levels. The years of his father's work with radiation probably lent itself to his slightly altered DNA, which allowed him to survive and then, well, survive anyway. At first there was no rhyme or reason to when he would "hulk out", but he began to learn that adrenaline fueled it. This had been a key find in his days wandering alone.

And he had been alone. Every day, and all night, just himself and sometimes the other guy. The other guy was there at first when he thought about how alone he was, when he despaired for his situation, felt sorry for himself. But he hated the other guy more than he hated his situation, more than being alone, so he had learned to reign it in.

It was different this time, he told himself. He wasn't swallowing his anger anymore; he just let it simmer on low for as long as possible. And, in fact, he was starting to learn that it could simmer for a long time. The adrenaline was another story; that was what he had to control, and it was difficult. It's difficult to suppress a natural reaction that is hardwired for the purpose of survival.

After being kicked out of one too many monasteries, he had decided to devote himself to the service of others. There was really something to the idea that giving to others was rewarding; despite the desperate conditions in India, the disease and the danger, in his philanthropy, he had found a sort of peace. The anger was still there, but every time he wrapped a wound or eased a cough, it backed down just a little.

For the first time in a long, long time, he had found peace. So when he stepped into the house, watched the kid jump through the window, and stood face to face with a beautiful white woman mentioning SHIELD, well, he wasn't exactly pleased. They needed him for information on gamma rays, they said. He had a suspicion they were still more interested in the other guy. Maybe not. But either way, he didn't like being used. It made him angry.

**A/N: Thanks again for the comments/favorites/alerts. They are always wonderful to see. I apologize for this being a little delayed. I was out of town for the weekend, and this one proved to be waaay difficult. I guess I write better military minds? Anyway, hope it wasn't terrible. I also wrote it while watching horror movies...strange mix.**


	7. Hi, my name is Thor Odinson

Hi, my name is...Thor Odinson

Duty and honor prove themselves, again and again, to be superior to fame and glory.

Thor took some convincing, but in time, he came to see the truth of things, and he was better for it. As a young man, he sought battle to quench some yearning in him for praise. When he knocked a giant down, crowds cheered, and so he spent the greater part of many days finding ways to do just that. No other life had ever occurred to him, and no one stopped him – he was, after all, Odin's son.

In time he learned that more praise and glory would come with the crown for which he was destined. He had desired it as much as he had feared it, though that fear would only show itself in brashness and arrogance. He did not think, at the time, that Loki would ever also desire such things. His mind was ever focused inward.

But he had learned. The truth is ever present, even when those for whom it exists do not see it. He finally saw it, though too late to undo the destruction he had caused. Instead of fear, now, he held guilt, and that guilt showed itself in kindness and a sort of hesitant pacifism.

Perhaps it was hearing that his father was dead. It could possibly be Jane's influence in his life, her own kindness acting as a guiding light, a prime example. Dr. Selvig, too, as well as Sif and the Warriors Three, journeying to Midgard to find him and bring him home. His father had more wisdom than Thor could fathom, somehow having the foresight that banishing him to the care of Jane Foster would temper him into truly indestructible steel.

Speaking of truth, however, perhaps no one as surprised as he when he found himself feeling more pity for Loki than anger. Sadly, the pity led only to further enrage his brother, so that now Thor felt the burden of Loki's many sins sitting squarely on his own shoulders. Every life Loki took, every diabolical scheme that he saw through, Thor felt that burden settle further. Despite this, when he looked upon Loki in the final moments, the time to mete out punishment, he faltered – he simply could not find it within himself to destroy his brother.

More than ever, he felt that the truth of duty and honor was a double-edged blade. It was bitter and sweet. Still, he knew that his new-found beliefs were superior, if only because they could be sustained for that much longer. As long as he had people looking up to him, depending on him, he had a duty to live up to those expectations. As long as he upheld his duty, protected those that needed him and came through for his friends, he would have honor. The cycle of the two truths of leadership was self-sustaining and far more rewarding.

So when Heimdall had seen Loki's trickery on Midgard, Thor was prepared to travel there, no matter the means employed by Odin to get him to where he was most needed, not to taste the glory of battle, not for praise or fame, but because he was responsible. He went because he had to, because he was needed. He went for duty. He went for honor.

**A/N: This one is waaaaay short. Sorry. I love the character Thor, but I had a little bit of a problem with how quickly he turned around in the movie. I mean, millenia of being Asgard's most blatantly narcissistic patrons to being humble and forgiving in a matter of _days_. I know _why_ they did it that way...it just bothered me. Luckily I'm usually too distracted by Chris Hemsworth to really notice when I'm watching the film. Next up is Captain America!**


	8. Hi, my name is Steve Rogers

Hi, my name is... Steve Rogers

It is hard to stop being the little guy. That was the most poignant lesson Steve had learned since becoming Captain America.

Growing up, and even grown up, he had been the little guy; he had been kicked, punched, stomped on, and degraded for most of his life. Dr. Erskine had given him a new body and a new image, but who he was hadn't changed. He understood now more than ever that that was the reason for Erskine's choice.

So he hadn't changed. But the world did, America did. He wasn't entirely convinced it was for the better.

When he had left – taken a nap, as Stark might say – he had been part of a world in turmoil, a battle against good and evil in a very real sense. The America he left behind was proud and hardworking; the country had come together, rolled up their collective sleeves, and they gave up comforts for the boys overseas. People – _most_ people – put aside their differences because they saw a common enemy. Men lined up in droves to volunteer to the service, proud to do so, and women took to the factories to get the jobs left behind done.

When he woke, the army was made of honorable men and women fighting side-by-side by those without honor. Men were disrespectful to women, and the world had become an eat-or-be-eaten kind of place. There was no sense of camaraderie, no pulling together for the betterment of the country or the world. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He felt like a relic.

Steve was used to being ridiculed. For many years, he was the butt of jokes about height or strength. Now, people snickered when he held open a door or called a woman "ma'am." He shrugged it off, just like he shrugged it off, then, but it made him feel old, despite still being only in his twenties, essentially. It was such a strange feeling.

When he didn't feel like relic, he felt like an alien. The tools of the new world, the mannerisms and expressions all were strange to him. Of course, if he was honest with himself, he hadn't always fit in in his own time, either, so it wasn't such a drastic change.

The most heartbreaking change was in people. Despite the odds in Europe during the War, people had held onto hope. Now all he saw was fear and anger, selfish aims and a kind of animalistic hierarchy. There seemed to be more problems now than when he had hit the ice, never mind the advances in technology and medicine. He was no longer sure where the front lines were because so many of them seemed to be on the home turf. It filled him with a cold, sinking feeling when he stepped out of the gym that SHIELD had made for him.

But he was still the little guy, still the man who wouldn't stay put when he was knocked down, so there was not really an option for him when Fury told him what his first assignment would be, no option at all.

**A/N: I think Evans did a wonderful job portraying Captain America in the Avengers, despite his disturbing time spent as Johnny Storm. He carried a kind of sadness that I think anyone waking up in today's world after falling asleep during World War II might feel. Every time I looked at him, I had a pang of empathy for him, so this one was gratifying, if not a little sad, to write.**

**Thanks again for reviews/alerts/favorites!**


	9. Hi, my name is Tony Stark

**Hi, my name is...** Tony Stark

"I am Iron Man."

Those words had changed his life. Well, kind of. Tony grew up in the spotlight; it was, let's face it, his natural habitat. Want a photo? Done. Interview? Of course. Why, lookie here, it's a pedestal, why don't I just go ahead and jump right on that? Tony was a media whore, sure.

But he was more than that.

The toy soldiers in Fury's super secret spy game didn't know that, of course. Pepper did. Hell, being honest with himself, she had known before he did, even tried to show him, making a relic of that first arc reactor. "Proof that Tony Stark has a heart." She was wrong; no, she was right. She was right that it was proof that he had a heart because, well, he had built it to keep shrapnel from slithering on in there and shredding it into bloody pieces.

He just liked to think that maybe the proof of his heart in that ethereal, touchy-feely kind of way was more in his actions. Pepper was proof that he had a heart. The company was proof that he had a heart. All of those lives that he saved was proof that he had a heart. And _that_ heart he kept wrapped up tight, safe from scrutiny, in a thick shell of Ego. His ego was impenetrable, so that was the best place to keep something so fragile as a human heart.

Though, being honest again (it's like a virus), he was as surprised as anyone to learn that he had _feelings_, pesky and problematic as they were. His father had not shown much of them, so he avoided it; it was a sign of weakness in the face of cold, hard facts. He was a scientist, an engineer; his brain had no room for the hormones and electrical synapses that made up the depth of human emotion. Besides, feeling a lot of loneliness as a child, a lot of questioning about whether or not his father cared, it was best to _not_ feel that. So instead he didn't.

And then he was captured. Fear was the first emotion obviously because, well, it was to be expected. Then there was anger. Really, the first few days were about what anyone would expect – a lot of negativity, not a lot of hope. His unfeeling scientist side took over because that was how he would have to survive. Then Yinsen died, and a lot of other feelings crept up. He was sad, still angry, really, and then he felt something else, something that scared him: responsibility.

When he made it out alive, when he realized what had been going on at his company, the evils that his name was part of, he felt even more anger and more responsibility. Before, if someone had gone on about having a new lease on life, he would have laughed it off. Then he knew what it meant. For better or worse, he was now obligated to protect people.

He still kept his Ego around, wrapped tightly around himself. He still relied heavily on logic and science, spoke in those terms. And he still had a heart, still had an obligation.

Reading Natasha's report on him was enlightening: Iron Man, yes, Tony Stark, no. He asked how they could accept him but not accept him, knowing full well the truth of the matter. He had everyone fooled. He out-manipulated the master manipulators. They felt Tony Stark was not up for saving the world because he was arrogant and brash. Iron Man was not.

They simply did not realize the truth: he _is_ Iron Man.

**A/N: Almost done, folks. The only one left on my docket for the film is Loki. This one was fun to write; I think Loki will be good, too.**

**Thanks again for sticking it through to the end – following, alerting, and commenting.**


	10. Hi, my name is Loki

**Hi, my name is_..._**Loki

Is it _evil_ to follow one's nature?

If Loki sat and pondered the question, he would be unable to find a suitable answer.

Thor's nature was one of boorish militancy. He led charges in battle and attacked those who had slighted him, even if it were only imagined. For this, he was honored with praise, loyal followers, and eventually, a throne.

Loki was not so boorish as Thor, not as militant. He lacked the physical prowess of his brother, and the general taste for such pursuits. He found his way through sorcery, slight of hand, and a bit of mischief. But when he had cut off all of the Lady Sif's golden locks in jealousy, he was punished with a journey to the Dark Elves to have new hair woven for her. He was _punished_ for his acts, while Thor was ever rewarded.

But it was all in jest. Even letting in the Frost Giants had only been a bit of fun, a way to test his own limits, and to watch everyone's reaction to something that was truly nothing of import. And, if he were being honest (which he never was), he was jealous of Thor and wanted to mar the day.

It had gone further than he ever planned. Still, he had followed Thor to Jotunheim. And that was when things changed, when he gained a never-guessed glimpse into his true nature.

Had that Frost Giant not tried to freeze him and failed, Loki perhaps would have gone on forever without any true knowledge of who he was. His world had come crashing down around him; everything he knew had been a lie. Suddenly, he realized that it was not Thor's nature that was being rewarded, it was the fact that Loki was not truly the son of Odin, not truly of Asgard, and therefore not truly ever considered for the throne.

Of course, had the Frost Giant not tried to freeze him, then perhaps Loki would never have known that he was, in fact, born to lead. And he would lead – by any means necessary.

Thor had stopped him the first time, when he was so close. But the fool simply misunderstood. Loki would not kill Odin; he needed Odin, and perhaps a part of him still loved Odin. Thor ruined it all, with his arrogance and hotheadedness. Just like always.

As he had floated through the void of space, traveling to realms that Thor could only ever dream of battling upon, the truth became clear to him. He was destined to lead. He was destined to be great. And he knew just where to start: Midgard.

It wasn't that he wanted to destroy everything that Thor loved or wanted because Loki's own chances at obtaining his most precious desires had been thwarted. It wasn't even necessarily that he was still jealous or angry, although he was. It was simply something he had to do.

It was in his nature.

**A/N: Ugh. I did not like this one. I have rewritten it a few times, but I wanted to post something. I have been at work _all week_, and my shifts starts at 5am, so this is not my best work. Here's what I am doing to make up for it: I am going to post my alternate chapters after this one. Anything that I had started and rewrote, I will post, and then, when I've had some modicum of sleep, I will rewrite this the way I keep thinking about it at night when I'm falling asleep. Deal?**


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